


trust in me, won't you, sweetheart?

by ratbandaid



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:55:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22318981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratbandaid/pseuds/ratbandaid
Summary: Sylvain has a sinking feeling that he won’t be able to last that long. Mercedes’s medical tent is quite a ways from their home, even if she lives relatively nearby. Sylvain’s body feels like a furnace yet he can’t stop trembling. His chest feels like he’s being constricted by that same damned snake that bit him. His head is spinning, and his stomach spins along with it. He just wants to shut his eyes and rest, but he refuses to rest until he tells Felix that he loves him.Just as Felix starts to move, Sylvain gathers up all his strength and lunges at Felix’s leg, hugging onto him and effectively keeping him in place.“Sylvain, let go! I have to go find Mercedes right now!”“Felix,” Sylvain slurs. Even though he hates how colors blur together and how shapes lose their distinct shapes, he forces himself to keep his eyes open, to will the tears away from his eyes, to remain calm. “Felix, I’m sorry.”“Stop apologizing and let me find Mercedes!” Felix tries to pull his leg from Sylvain’s grip. Felix gasps out a sob. “Please, Sylvain.”
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 133
Collections: Sylvix Squad Super Stories





	trust in me, won't you, sweetheart?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! This is my first fic that I've written in about seven years. Sylvix really grabbed me by the balls and hasn't let go kdjflskdjf. It just awakened something in my feral gay heart and made me write this in a blind haze. I didn't stay completely faithful to the Orpheus and Eurydice myth because while I love me some angst, I really want a happy ending for these clowns. I changed some things to and I added some stuff to make the angst hurt just a little more!! :^) You don't need to be too familiar with the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice to read this--but it's really interesting and I suggest looking into it if you're into Greek mythology! 
> 
> Also, try not to look into the gods and the lore in my fic too closely; I just wanted to put some characters in some spots. I know that not all the characters fit into their roles and that some are OOC. Please excuse that! It was kind of hard to plug people into the spots. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Felix has been married to Sylvain for only a year, but it feels like he’s been married to him for all of his life. He supposes that he feels that way because they’ve known one another since childhood and because they were always very close with one another, as if they were glued together at the hip. Felix has never known anyone better than he’s known Sylvain—has never loved anyone more than he’s loved Sylvain. His heart fills with an embarrassing amount of fondness whenever he wakes up in his bed beside his drooling, snoring, redheaded husband or when he has to snatch the kitchen knife out of Sylvain’s hand in fear that he might nick himself with that carefree manner of his, or even when he has to reach over and lightly pick a grain of rice off Sylvain’s chin. Felix would go to the ends of the world for Sylvain, and there’s no one he’d rather spend his life with.

Yet, there is always an inkling of doubt in Felix’s chest when he sees Sylvain alone with some girls from the village, winking and cooing sweet nothings at them. While Felix knows Sylvain like the back of his hand, knows why he behaves in such a way, knows that Sylvain would never actually cheat on Felix, a hideous combination of anxiety and self-consciousness and jealousy swirl in his chest and claw at his sanity. He’s asked Sylvain before to stop, and Sylvain had solemnly promised to try his best to stop. He had remarked that it was rather hard to ditch his old habits and to start a new personality and gather a new reputation. Even so, he had promised to keep his meaningless flirting to a minimum, teasing Felix about his jealousy. However, Felix isn’t quite sure how much longer he can keep these feelings bottled up. It feels like Sylvain wasn’t even trying to hide the way his gaze subtly slides to stare at the brunette woman walking by or the blonde woman selling vegetables. The more that Felix noticed these trends, the more frustrated he got.

“Do you even love me?” he snaps at Sylvain, one night before bed. “Or am I just some kind of conquest to you?”

Sylvain blinks, clearly confused. He looks up from the book he was reading, his eyebrows furrowed in concerned. “Huh?” is all he can manage to say.

Felix throws the covers off himself and crosses his arms. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Sylvain slides a bookmark into his book and sets it on the nightstand, turning his body to give Felix all his attention. He tries to reach out and take Felix’s hands, but Felix swats at him. “I’m sorry, but I don’t really know where this all is coming from.” Sylvain cocks his head. “Did I do something?”

Felix internally fumes, but he keeps his voice level, despite the heat in his words. “Of _course_ you did something, you good-for-nothing, lying flirt!”

“Lying..?” Sylvain frowns. “Felix—”

“Why the hell did I get married to someone so—so utterly and painfully _insatiable_?” Felix gives a huff of annoyance. He hates how his heart hurts when he sees how Sylvain winces. Why should he feel bad for Sylvain? “When Dorothea was saying that you’d be a terrible husband, she was right!”

Before Felix can lash out at him, Sylvain holds his hands up placatingly. “Fe, I swear that I’ve been trying to get better about it—really! Ask the village girls.” He shakes his head. “I know it bothers you. I’m trying to stop. I’m doing my best. Don’t you trust me, sweetheart?”

Silent, Felix tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. It only further frustrates him when the strand flops back out of place. A perfect representation of his life—not matter how hard he tries to keep things together, everything just falls out of place.

“Felix?” Sylvain patiently waits for an answer, gently reaching over and tucking the unruly lock of hair back behind Felix’s hair. Felix lets him.

Felix takes a deep breath, and his eyes burn a little. He always hated bearing his heart for others, but he supposes that there is no other choice in this case. “Do you know what all this flirting does to me?” Felix asks slowly, quietly. Sylvain’s lips curl down into a small frown. He opens his mouth to say something, some sort of hurt look in his eyes. Felix cuts him off, his voice wavering the slightest bit.

“Do you have any idea how many people ask me if I’m even still married to you?”

“Felix…”

Felix shakes his head. “I—ugh, forget it.” He starts to get out of bed. “I’m sleeping in the guest room. I don’t want to even look at you right now.”

“No, talk to me, Felix.” Sylvain grips Felix’s hand and pulls him back to the bed. “Even if you want to curse me out and tell me how awful I am, just stay here and say it.”

“Why should I even bother?” Felix averts his gaze.

“Because I can’t understand you unless you talk to me.”

“Liar.”

They both know it’s true. Sylvain knows Felix so well that it’s like he can read his mind sometimes, which makes the flirting just that much more _painful_ to Felix.

That must be why Sylvain lets go of his hand. He lets go, albeit a little hesitantly, the guilt in his sweet, honey-colored eyes ever-present.

Sylvain rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I… Alright then. We’ll talk about this tomorrow morning, okay, Fe?” 

-

In the morning, though, Sylvain is nowhere to be found in the house. Instead, there is a note from him left on the table beside a plate of breakfast. It read:

_‘Felix,_

_I went out to get some firewood. I made you some breakfast. I get if you don’t want to eat it though. You can feed the scraps to the stray cats that usually hang around in the backyard if you want. I know you like to feed them. I’ll be back as soon as possible. We should really talk about last night._

_-Sylvain’_

Sylvain wanders the woods with his axe in his hand, a half-eaten apple in the other, and a basket for the firewood strapped to his back. He had left right at sunrise. He could say that it was because he really, really wanted to restock the firewood at the house, but that would be a complete and utter lie. He just wanted to get out of the house. Sylvain doesn’t think he can bear to stay in that silent home any longer, especially since the glassy-eyed expression on Felix’s face kept haunting him. He hasn’t been able to sleep since that argument with Felix. He isn’t even sure if it could be called an argument—it was mostly Felix rightfully getting upset with him and Sylvain fumbling with his words, as if he’d just learned to speak for the first time. He isn’t sure how he can make it up to Felix, but he knows he has to really stop what he’s doing.

Sylvain knows that his flirting’s a bad thing. He knows that it sends the wrong message, that it hurts the girls he flirts with, that it kills Felix inside. Even so, he’s done his best to stop. He goes out to the village with girls—Felix probably thinks to flirt—but instead, they discipline him and try to correct his behavior. He feels utterly humiliated that he has to taught not to flirt, like a child getting his hand slapped for trying to sneak a cookie from the cookie jar. Even so, he’s seen serious progress and is learning to quickly get rid of that awful habit, reforming his reputation at the local village, and even picking up a few more traits on how to be a better lover to Felix from the girls who are helping him.

Sylvain heaves out a small sigh as he sets his basket on a tree stump. Perhaps he should pick some flowers to bring to Felix along with the firewood. Or maybe not—Felix would probably get angry with him for trying to “buy” his love with gifts. He just wishes that he were better with being honest and that Felix was just a little better with his words and his feelings. Sylvain gets to work, chopping at a tree. He lets the physical strain take his mind off of Felix and of the rotting feelings of guilt, frustration, and sorrow in his chest. 

He focuses on swinging the axe, on the sound of wood cracking beneath the steel, on the feeling of his numb and calloused hands. He gets a good rhythm going and collects a good pile of firewood. He rifles through the pile and slowly stacks them into his basket. 

He stops when he hears crying. Sylvain looks up and finds a little girl wandering around, looking up at the trees and wiping at her eyes. Sylvain quickly finishes putting the firewood in his basket and pulls his arms through the straps. “Hey,” he calls to the girl as gently as he can. The girl still jump nearly a foot in the air and screams, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

“Are you lost?” He walks towards her slowly, like he’s approaching a frightened mare, and he kneels in front of her.

The girl sniffles and nods, wiping her eyes. “I-I want to g-g-go home,” she whimpers."I w-want my mom."

Sylvain absently-minded thinks about when Felix was a child, how he’d cling to Sylvain and cry over the smallest of things. “Do you know where she is?” Sylvain asks, suppressing the urge to smile at the memory. The girl shakes her head. “Then do you know where you live? Maybe I can lead you there?”

The girl hiccups, wringing her hands. “I live in Faerghus.” Sylvain smiles.

“Oh. I live there as well. Here, come with me. I’ll take you there, okay?” Sylvain stands up, and the girl gingerly takes Sylvain’s hand. Sylvain tries not to recoil at how moist and sticky her hands are as he leads her. “What’s your name?”

“B-Bernadetta.”

“Nice to meet you, Bernadetta. I’m Sylvain.” Sylvain flashes her a smile, and she gives him a small smile in return.

Sylvain makes some conversation with the girl and finds that Bernadetta, despite how jumpy and terrified she seems to be of everything, makes for good company. She opens up, albeit a little reluctantly, when he asks her about her hobbies. When he shows genuine interest in her writing, she seems to be a little happier, even though she absolutely refuses to tell him what she writes about at all and refuses to even give him a snippet of her writing. Still, she relaxes the tiniest bit around him, and she even smiles at his anecdotes and his jokes. Perhaps he makes for some good company as well.

“We’re almost there,” he tells her, and she beams.

“Oh, I c-can’t wait to go home,” Bernadetta gushes. “I picked this flower for my teddy—that’s how I got lost.” She holds up a daisy.

Sylvain smiles, and he’s going to remark on how rare such pretty flowers are in Faerghus, but he’s immediately cut off by a sharp pain in his leg, two piercing punctures as heat shoots through his wound. He lets out a string of curses and crumples to the ground, clutching at his leg as Bernadetta shrieks.

“Snake!” she screams.

Sylvain isn’t able to see the snake, but he hears it slither off into the bushes. He rolls up the leg of his pants and finds a quickly-swelling splotch of red on his leg, where two distinct puncture wounds can be seen. His first thoughts are _Fuck, I didn’t get to properly apologize to Felix for being an ass._ Then he pulls himself together enough to calm Bernadetta.

“Let’s out of here before the snake comes back, okay?” Bernadetta trembles violently but nods along, her face as pale as the clouds in the sky. Sylvain laughs. “Don’t worry. I won’t let the snake get you. Do you want me to carry you to make sure the snake doesn’t bite you?”

He meant it mostly as a joke to try and make her smile, but Bernadetta quickly tries to scale him like a tree. He ends up carrying her out of the forest, despite how his leg burns as he walks, how his vision starts to blur, how his chest hurts with each breath. He manages to drop Bernadetta off in the village when she recognizes the way home, and after exchanging a quick good-bye, he make his way back to his house.

As he spots the familiar garden in the front yard, his vision blurs more. The world around him feels like it’s spinning, teetering and tottering. Before he knows it, he’s collapsed face-first into the ground, the firewood he’s collected unceremoniously scattering about the ground. He grits his teeth as he turns over, facing the sky. His stomach lurches, and his head pounds. Even now, lying against the ground, he feels like he’s being spun around.

“Felix,” he rasps out, trying to prop himself up on his elbows but collapsing. His throat feels as dry as the desert. Then again, a little louder, “Felix!” His head spins. “Felix,” he calls out again, his voice trailing off. He hears the door open.

“Sylvain? Sylvain!” Felix runs out towards him and kneels beside him, hands unsurely hovering over Sylvain’s body. “What happened?” Sylvain's chest frantically flutters up and down. If he had the energy, he’d make a comment about how Felix takes his breath away. He smiles a little at the thought, and Felix glares at him. “Sylvain, you idiot, tell me what’s wrong!”

Sylvain reaches down and rolls up his pant leg. Felix stares at the swollen leg with wide eyes, his mouth agape. He looks like a fish out of water, opening and shutting his mouth, speechless. 

"Snake,” Sylvain manages to rasp out. “’s not too bad, right?” He smiles sheepishly. “Definitely seen better days, though.”

That brings Felix’s stream of consciousness back to current events. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up,” Felix snaps quickly, but Sylvain doesn’t take any offense to it. Felix’s caramel eyes are quickly becoming teary. “What kind of snake? How long have you had this?” Without giving Sylvain a chance to answer, he gives a frustrated growl and continues, “Gods, Sylvain, you fucking idiot!” Felix balls his hands into tight fists. “You idiot…”

Sylvain hates seeing Felix cry like this. He just wishes he knew what to do to make him stop. He can’t do much, especially with his body burning up and going numb and aching. He weakly raises a hand and cradles Felix’s cheek. Sylvain rubs his thumb along Felix’s cheek and wipes away the tears.

“I’m—”

“Don’t you dare fucking apologize.” Felix stands up, his nails leaving angry little crescent marks ins his palms from how hard he’s balling his hands into fists. “I’m going to get Mercedes, okay? She should be nearby. Just—just stay here.”

Sylvain has a sinking feeling that he won’t be able to last that long. Mercedes’s medical tent is quite a ways from their home, even if she lives relatively nearby. Sylvain’s body feels like a furnace yet he can’t stop trembling. His chest feels like he’s being constricted by that same damned snake that bit him. His head is spinning, and his stomach spins along with it. He just wants to shut his eyes and rest, but he refuses to rest until he tells Felix that he loves him.

Just as Felix starts to move, Sylvain gathers up all his strength and lunges at Felix’s leg, hugging onto him and effectively keeping him in place.

“Sylvain, let go! I have to go find Mercedes right now!”

“Felix,” Sylvain slurs. Even though he hates how colors blur together and how shapes lose their distinct shapes, he forces himself to keep his eyes open, to will the tears away from his eyes, to remain calm. “Felix, I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing and let me find Mercedes!” Felix tries to pull his leg from Sylvain’s grip. Felix gasps out a sob. “Please, Sylvain.”

“’m sorry for the flirting,” he babbles. Sylvain wonders if this is what a deathbed confession feels like—oddly liberating but painfully bittersweet. “’m sorry I hurt you. I never meant to ‘cause, ‘cause I love you, I love you so much, and—and ‘m sorry that I… The promise…” He feels winded. “I can’t, not yet—I wanted t-to…” To die with you, are the words left unsaid. Sylvain moves his mouth, but no words come out. Felix crumples to his knees and cradles Sylvain’s head in his lap, his tears rolling off his cheeks and landing on Sylvain’s cheeks, dotting his face like the light, little freckles that adorn Sylvain’s body. Even though his own tears and the blurriness of his vision make it impossible to really see much, Sylvain tries to remember every detail of Felix’s face, flushed as he cries, the sun creating a halo around his head. Sylvain can’t help but to think that even now, Felix looks beautiful—his own personal angel, taking him to his afterlife.

“You’re so pretty, Fe,” Sylvain hoarsely whispers, trying his best to give Felix a smile to remember despite the tears gathering at his own eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Felix gasps out through sobs. “ I love you so much. So please… _Please_ don’t go. I can’t lose you.”

“’m sorry.” Sylvain shuts his eyes.

“Sylvain... _Sylvain!”_

-

When Felix lost his older brother, Glenn, in a war, he had cried in Sylvain’s arms for what seemed like hours on end. Sylvain had suggested that he do something to get his mind off of Glenn so Felix had decided to pick up his lyre and try to play a song. But only a few notes in, Felix started crying again because Glenn had bought him the lyre and had taught him how to play. He hasn’t played much since, only playing in remembrance of his brother.

But now that his heart has been shattered into a million pieces by another excruciatingly painful death, without Sylvain to comfort him, Felix finds himself drawn to the lyre again.

It drives Felix crazy living in such a silent house, once lively with Sylvain’s antics—his laughter, his anecdotes, and even the sound of his humming quietly from time to time. It drives him crazy waking up in an empty bed, eating at an empty table, sitting in empty rooms. It drives him crazy that he can practically see Sylvain in the house, despite how he wasn’t there.

Felix and Sylvain’s friends seem to be worried for him. Though he hates feeling so helpless and pitiful, Felix supposes it makes sense that they are concerned. After all, when Sylvain had died, Felix had screamed Sylvain’s name over and over until his throat felt raw and hoarse; he had pulled at his hair until strands fell out; he had dug his fingernails into his palms hard enough to draw blood. When they had managed to pry Felix away from Sylvain’s corpse, he wouldn’t eat nor talk.

Those friends always check up on him—for example, Annette and Mercedes bring him baked sweets, and Ashe comes by to spend time with him—but no matter how much they try to console him, Felix just feels like an empty husk, cold and dead. In taking Sylvain, the gods had taken much of Felix with him.

However, one day, when Felix is trying to take his mind off of Sylvain, his gaze wanders over to where his lyre is perched beside the window. Without really thinking, he picks it up and strums it lightly. It seems that the gods had not taken his skill when they had taken parts of him alongside Sylvain.

Felix plays softly at first, just plucking random strings and letting the soft sounds of the lyre fill his ears. Then, as he thinks about Sylvain, he starts to create melodies and chords, playing louder. Felix has never been a very creative person. His talents were more practical and physical, rather than artistic. He’d much rather spar with a sword in his hand than sit at his windowsill and play the lyre. However, for some reason, he longs to play the lyre, to capture Sylvain’s essence and his own feelings in music—like he pays respects to Glenn through the lyre, he will play to pay respects to Sylvain.

Felix plays and plays, the soft and mellow notes carrying throughout his silence home. The sad melody fills the air and gently seeps outside through the window.

Little did Felix know that his playing impacted so many.

His music touched the villagers who happened to hear, the little forest animals scampering about, the farm animals resting in their barns. It moved the stoic trees, the weeping rivers, the joyous flowers. It seemed that all things, living and nonliving, were moved by the beauty and the grief in Felix’s playing. And it seemed that his playing had even managed to reach the gods.

-

Felix sets his lyre aside and wipes the tears appearing at the edge of his eyes. He heaves a sigh. It seems that the music hadn’t done a very good job in taking his mind off Sylvain.

“That was lovely, Felix.”

Felix jumps at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. Before him, in his bedroom, stands a blonde-haired god, his expression earnest and gentle. The blonde exudes some sort of radiance, a bright golden light, yet his presence feels muffled, as if clouds were blocking Felix’s view. Felix frowns. He recognizes this god—Dimitri, the god of the sun.

“Oh, another god,” he spits bitterly. “Are you finally here to take my soul away now?” Felix keeps the fact that he’d much rather be dead to himself.

“No.”

“Then what do you want?” Felix crosses his arms. “I’m not really in the mood to have a friendly chat right now.”

Dimitri raises an eyebrow. “Well, that’s certainly one way to speak to a god.” He shakes his head. “But I digress.” He gestures at Felix’s lyre. “I heard your playing. It was very beautiful—very sad.”

Felix shifts uncomfortably. Right, Dimitri is also a god of music. It makes some sense that music would attract him. “Yeah,” he says, his tone a tad softer. “I lost someone. The song’s meant for Sylvain.” He averts his gaze. He can’t bring himself to tell Dimitri that Sylvain’s _dead_ —it still doesn’t feel real and it still hurts like hell. Instead, he says, “He’s gone.”

The god furrows his brow and nods sagely. Felix is too tired, too sad, to do anything about the way Dimitri stares at him pityingly. “It seems that way,” Dimitri muses quietly. After a brief pause, his expression goes back to normal, and he tilts his head. “Might I make a suggestion?”

A suggestion? Felix has no idea what Dimitri could tell him to do. He’s not in the mood to run errands for some god, and he’s not in the mood to put up with riddles or tests of strength. Felix sighs and gives a terse nod. “Sure. No promises that I’ll go through with it though.”

Dimitri chuckles, his laughter like a soft ringing of bells. “I feel like you may want to follow my advice.”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

Dimitri walks across the room slowly, full of grace like he’s dancing to a waltz as he moves. He picks up the lyre carefully, as if to avoid crushing it in his hands, and hands it to Felix. Felix stares down at it and flicks his gaze back up to Dimitri. “Go to the underworld and visit your beloved.”

Felix frowns. “I can’t do that. I’m mortal. I would die.” Distantly, he wonders if dying if worth being with Sylvain. Of course it is—but he’s sure that Sylvain would be upset with him for ending his life early, even though they promised to die together.

“Yes, it appears so. But the other gods and I have been touched by your playing.” Dimitri smiles at him. “It was very moving. As such, we would like to offer you our protection so that you may enter the underworld.”

Felix’s eyes widen a little. A chance to go into the underworld? A chance to see Sylvain? His heartbeat starts to quicken, but Felix keeps his wits about him.

“But what am I to do there?”

"You must convince Hubert, the god of the underworld, to bring Sylvain back.”

Felix has hardly ever had any interaction with a god before. In fact, this one interaction with the god of the sun may well be his first—and he is definitely sure that he isn’t acting with nearly enough properness or reverence. How would he manage to convince a god to undo what has been done?

Dimitri doesn’t seem to wait for an answer. “Are you willing to go, then? Shall I send you now?”

Felix doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes.” 

-

To Felix’s surprise, he truly is protected by the gods. He is able to pass from the world of the living into the underworld seamlessly.

Dimitri had lead him to the entrance of Hell and bade him good luck. “You will want to use your talents in persuading Hubert,” Dimitri had said, tapping Felix’s lyre with his finger and smiling. “Best of luck.”

“Thank you.”

The underworld is daunting, certainly not a place meant for mortal eyes. It is cold, dark, and damp, murky like he’s stepping into a bog. Before him is a massive river, black as ink—the River Styx. Yet Felix does not have a way of paying for a ride across the toxic river.

He makes his way to a boat pulled up to a dock. A line of spirits slowly lurch towards the boat. A sleepy-looking green-haired man quickly checks over his passengers. To some, he denies them access, shaking his head and pointing them in the opposite direction. That must be the famous ferryman, Linhardt.

Felix takes a deep breath and makes his way to the front of the line, standing before Linhardt, who is nodding off.

“Hey.”

Linhardt eyes him up and down. “Hmm, you’re not like the rest of the people around here,” he muses, cocking his head. “You’re alive, for one.”

Felix nods. “Yeah, it’s really not that important. Just take me across.”

“Mm.” Linhardt yawns and stretches his arms out over his head. “Sorry. I don’t take living souls across.” He pauses. “But I am rather curious as to how you’ve survived so far. Mortals typically cannot make it here alive.” His eyes glint with some sort of curiosity.

“If I tell you, will you take me across?”

Linhardt shakes his head. “I’m sorry. No can do. Ah, but do tell me. It’d be interesting to know.”

Felix feels his temper building quickly. He is so close yet _so damn far_ from getting Sylvain back. He’s tempted to just jump onto the ferry. “You have to take me across. I have to meet with Hubert.”

Linhardt shakes his head again. “You’re not dead. And even if you were, you don’t have the fee for the ferry.” He looks over at said ferry. “Now, if you will excuse me. I’m quite busy. Caspar brings in souls quite relentlessly, and I’m afraid if I do not get going, I’ll have even more work to do later on.” Linhardt starts to undock his boat, untying it from the post. He yawns. “Oh, I have _so_ much work to do.”

“Wait!” Felix blurts out. Linhardt turns to him. Felix isn’t quite sure what to offer the ferryman. After all, all he’s brought along is his lyre. He feels his heart beat out of his chest as he awkwardly holds up his lyre. “What if I, um, play you something?”

Linhardt looks at the lyre in Felix’s hands, unimpressed. “Music, hm? Well, are you any good?”

Felix nods.

“Then play me something.” Linhardt loosely docks the ferry, ignoring the souls that complain at him. He sits on the floor, his cheek resting on his fist.

Felix starts to strum his lyre, but rather than play the song he’d made while thinking about Sylvain, he starts to play a lullaby that Glenn had taught him. The rowdy souls on the ferry calm down, listening to the beautiful notes cut clearly through the air. Linhardt yawns again. When Felix stops playing, a few of the passengers complain, urging him to play a little more. He pays them no mind, instead turning to the ferryman.

“Oh, that’s lovely, very lovely,” Linhardt murmurs, standing up and letting down the plank to let Felix on. “Come aboard then. Play for me. That seems like a nice song to nap to while we sail.”

Felix’s heart calms down as he feels a wave of relief wash through his body. He boards the ferry and plays for Linhardt, who naps as the ferry gently makes its way through dreary waters. When Felix gets off the boat, Linhardt nods at him in acknowledgment before setting his ferry off, lying against the post and dozing off once again. Felix has no idea how such a lazy person can be the ferryman for the underworld.

On his journey to Hubert, he encounters Cerberus, the three-headed hellhound, as well as a few other obstacles. He manages to make his way past them using his lyre, playing songs to entertain and soothe. He makes a mental note to place an offering at Glenn’s grave for giving him such a useful talent. Eventually, he finds himself, standing before a large pair of thrones.

Hubert, the god of death, is seated on the bigger of the thrones. He stares down at him, his pale, green-eyed gaze staring straight into his soul. His husband, Ferdinand, is seated beside him. The god of spring stares down at Felix as well, though his gaze is remarkably friendlier. Felix wonders how Ferdinand, with his gaudy and bright colors and his love and life, can thrive in such a place.

“A mortal? What brings you here?” asks Hubert, flat though not unkind.

Felix bends in a slight bow, still unsure of how to approach Hubert. Sylvain better appreciate all that he’s doing for him. “I’d like to make a request,” Felix says, internally cringing at how formal and awkward he sounded.

“I am not interested.” Hubert waves his hand dismissively.

Felix stares blankly. He hadn’t imagined that Hubert wouldn’t even give him a chance. He thought that Hubert would at least hear his request out before sending him away. He grits his teeth. He isn’t leaving this damned shithole without Sylvain.

But before Felix can say anything rash and probably offensive, Ferdinand speaks. “Hubert, do not be so ignoble,” says the ginger god. He looks at Felix and smiles politely. “For a mortal to come all this way—do you not think it to be impressive? I believe you ought to spare him a little of your time.”

“Ferdinand,” Hubert says exasperatedly, crossing his arms. “You, of all people, know how busy I am. I have not the time nor the patience to deal with mortal affairs.”

Ferdinand frowns and sits up in his throne, right beside Hubert’s. “Hubie.” Ferdinand places his hand over Hubert’s. “At least give him a minute of your time. Just a minute. It would be rude to turn him away after he’s come so far, would it not?” Hubert looks over at Ferdinand. Though no words are said, their expressions change subtly, Hubert smiling the tiniest bit, before Hubert turns and nods at Felix. It is as if they had a conversation without even speaking—Felix feels a pang of jealousy and bitterness in his chest when he thinks about how he used to be able to do that with Sylvain.

 _Soon,_ he promises himself. “I’d like to play a song for you.”

Ferdinand’s eyes light up, and he claps his hands. “A song? Oh, please do! I do so love music.” He nudges Hubert with his elbow. “See? It was a good idea to let him stay! He just wants to perform some nice music for us.” He beams at Hubert.

Hubert doesn’t look quite as delighted. He gives a soft sigh but sits up in his throne nonetheless. “Proceed.”

Felix takes a deep breath and rubs a hand against the smooth, cold metal arm of the lyre. His fingers ache, and he knows that he’s going to have angry, red blisters on the tips of his fingers, marked with a thin line from the strings. But it’s worth it for Sylvain. Anything for Sylvain.

Felix starts to play the song he made in remembrance of Sylvain. He notices how Ferdinand’s face contorts in sadness. He notices how Hubert still seemed unmoved. So Felix takes a different approach. He seamlessly transitions his song for Sylvain into a more upbeat, happy waltz. Ferdinand brightens and hops down from his throne, tugging Hubert up onto his feet despite his protests. Ferdinand and Hubert waltz to Felix’s music, a stunning contradiction of life and death swaying together against the cold stone floor of the underworld. Ferdinand is a whirl of orange and red and green, his long hair trailing behind him, his movements lively and lovely. Hubert, almost statuesque in his black clothes, moves slowly, carefully, as he holds Ferdinand.

When Felix stops, Ferdinand claps his hands excitedly. “Oh, that was wonderful! Will you play another song for us?”

“Enough, Ferdinand.” Hubert almost looks winded, but the faintest trace of a smile can be present on his lips. “We haven’t the time.” He turns to Felix. “That was nice,” he says slowly. “I have not been able to spend such time with Ferdinand in quite a while. Thank you. Let me repay you.”

Felix gulps hard. “Sylvain,” he rasps out, his heart beating out of his chest. “Sylvain José Gautier. Please—please give him back to me.” He holds his breath in anticipation of Hubert’s response.

Hubert seems to ponder on Felix’s words but nods. “Very well.” Hubert holds out a hand, and a ball of pulsing, purple magic appears in his palm. The ball of magic rises into the air and fades. “You are to walk out of the underworld,” he instructs, “and Sylvain will follow.” Hubert gestures at a stone wall. The stones shift, revealing a long, narrow passageway. “Once you are out of the caves of the underworld and the light touches Sylvain’s shade, you will have him. But beware: if you face him within the caves, his shadow will be whisked back among the dead.” He gives a curt nod. “You may be on your way.”

 _All I have to do is walk out of here without looking back?_ Felix thinks. _Easy. It’s not like I want to stay here any longer than necessary anyway_. Even so, unease fills his chest, the anxiety of having Sylvain so close to him and losing him again making his head spin.

Felix bows, his chest aching at the thought of simply being able to see Sylvain again. He feels like this is all a dream, like he’s going to wake up in his empty bed without Sylvain any moment now. “Thank you.”

“Have faith,” Ferdinand says with a small smile.

Felix begins his walk out of the underworld, heading through the caves while clutching his lyre underneath his arm. Distantly, he hears Ferdinand and Hubert speaking with one another, their voices echoing softly down the caves yet their words indistinct. Eventually, their voices become inaudible, and nothing but his own thoughts accompanies Felix.

The walk feels impossibly long. He feels like he’s been walking for years through these damned caves. The silence—no, the sound of endless damned souls around him begging him to take them with him and the sounds of his lone footsteps—is killing him. After a while, Felix begins to doubt that Hubert even sent Sylvain with him. After all, he can’t hear Sylvain’s footsteps behind him. He stops in his tracks. If he leaves these caves, he won’t be able to return until he is dead. If Hubert had not sent Sylvain with him and Felix leaves, he’ll never have Sylvain. If he turns around now to confront Hubert, he risks losing Sylvain permanently.

He grits his teeth. Gods can be liars; gods can be tricky. How can he tell that Hubert was telling the truth?

Then, he hears it. A whisper among the screams of the damned; a beautiful melody in a sea of white noise.

_‘Trust in me, won’t you, sweetheart?’_

Felix almost whips around when he hears Sylvain’s voice. It takes every ounce of his power not to turn. His heart is filled with longing, and his chest tightens. He aches. He just wants to turn around and see Sylvain standing there behind him, to embrace him and sob into his arms like he would when they were younger.

Yet, Felix faces forwards and forces one foot in front of the other. As he walks further into the caves, he swears that Sylvain’s presence makes itself more and more known. He feels Sylvain following him, can practically smell the earthy smell of cedar and sandalwood of Sylvain. At one point, he swears he can even feel Sylvain’s breaths down the back of his neck.

As he nears the end of the caves, Felix halts. He hears another pair of footsteps behind him. His heart nearly fails him right then and there.

_‘What’s wrong, Fe?’_

Felix feels tears bubble up in his eyes. “Sylvain?” he meekly whispers, fighting the lump in his throat.

 _‘I’m here, Fe. I’m here.’_ Felix feels something faintly brush against the back of his neck. _‘Keep going? We’re almost there, aren’t we?’_

Felix nods and slowly resumes walking, trembling with every step. To take his mind off the nerves, he lightly picks at the strings of his lyre, playing softly.

Felix can see the light. He sees the mouth of the cave. Beautiful rays of the dawn’s sunlight gently grace the grass at the mouth of the cave. Felix can’t wait to feel the heat of the sun after having been in such a cold, dead world for so long—can’t wait to feel Sylvain’s warm love after a what felt like a lifetime of cold, dead silence and absence.

Felix makes it out of the caves and falls to his knees as soon as he’s out of the caves, basking in the warmth of the sun. There’s a heavy pause. The world seems to stop, like it’s holding its breath in anticipation of what happens next. Felix doesn’t dare look up, doesn’t dare move. He’s still terrified that if he turns back, Sylvain will disappear, even though Sylvain’s shadow should have been blessed by the sunlight, by the light of the living.

A pair of arms wrap around Felix’s middle.

“Felix,” Sylvain whispers, and something in Felix breaks.

Felix turns around and finds Sylvain there, looking perfect as always, with that damned smile of his. His hair is a little disheveled, and there’s an odd paleness to his skin, but he’s there, dammit, he’s alive again. Felix tackles Sylvain, knocking him into the grass. Sylvain grunts as Felix buries his face in his chest.

“You dumbass,” Felix snarls at him, ignoring the burning of tears in his eyes. “Making all that trouble. All you ever do is make messes for other people to clean up, you know that?”

Sylvain chuckles, his lovely laugh making his chest reverberate. Felix revels in the sound, in the slight vibrations. He presses his ear to Sylvain’s chest. When he hears Sylvain’s heart beating, Felix shuts his eyes, letting out a small sigh of relief. “I’ve been alive for only a few minutes, and you’re already telling me how horrible I am.” Sylvain laughs a little and cards a hand through Felix’s hair. “I missed you, you know. It kind of really fucking sucks being dead without you.”

Felix can’t bring himself to say anything so he doesn’t say anything. He clings to Sylvain.

“Felix?”

“Mm.”

“I’m sorry.”

Felix sighs. “Don’t apologize.”

“No, I need to.” Sylvain pries Felix off him and holds him at arm’s length. Felix stares into Sylvain’s honey-colored eyes and feels a wave of joy wash over him. They aren’t glazed over like they were when Sylvain had died. They’re normal and beautiful and _alive._ “I’m sorry. I know that the flirting really bothered you. I shouldn’t have done any of that.” Sylvain cups Felix’s cheek with one hand. Felix leans into the touch. “I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you like that. I promise I won’t do it ever again.”

Felix shuts his eyes. “Asshole.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Sylvain traces Felix’s cheekbone with his thumb, a featherlight touch. “But I mean it. I won’t do it.” He gives a small chuckle. “I mean, how can I? I have the most beautiful, brave, talented husband in the world.” Felix can practically hear the smile on Sylvain’s lips as he speaks. “I love you.”

“Shut up,” Felix tells him, leaning in to press his lips against Sylvain’s, but they both know that he meant, _I missed you too. I love you._

_-_

From that day on, Sylvain, as promised, ceased his flirting with anyone who wasn’t Felix. And from that day on, Felix played his lyre more often, in remembrance of his deceased brother and in celebration of having his facetious but painfully endearing husband by his side once again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so very much for reading!! 
> 
> (also you can find me @_sneakymeat on twitter!! I don't really ever post anything original, but my dms are always open!! pls come and yell at me about sylvix or ferdibert or fe3h in general!!)


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